Norma Gordon's Journal
by FandomDrunk
Summary: Norma's story...


**The Journal of Norma Gordon**

_September 21__st_

Lies. They were all lies. I can't believe how corrupt my family is. It shames me to think of it.

Today Charlie visited me. My older brother and I barely even recognized him. He looks so different in the photographs – now he's taller and better looking. I don't remember the last time I saw him; Mom told me he died in Warren State Home years ago, and I only knew he was still alive when the professor – what was his name? Nemur? – asked for my permission to use him in some experimental brain surgery that would hopefully increase his IQ. I hesitated before I agreed – I wasn't sure what exactly were the consequences should the surgery go wrong, but I didn't want to deny him the chance of being normal.

That night I asked professor Nemur if I could go and see Charlie. He refused and bluntly told me that it would upset Charlie's feelings and that I would be told when the operation was over and how it had fared.

It had been three months since then and I hadn't received any news or updates on the situation, but I hadn't been given any time to think about it much; Mom's dementia had gotten significantly worse and I decided to send her to a doctor to see if there was any possible hope of recovery. There wasn't, but I hadn't been expecting anything so it wasn't much of a disappointment. When we returned home I saw him in the news.

Charlie Gordon. Moron turned Genius.

I was so pleased to know that it had been a success. I never thought of how famous he would be if the experiment worked, and now that it had, I felt like I had been banged headfirst into a brick wall. My brother was a man-made prodigy; a star born of artificial intelligence. His name was all over the papers in bold print – I couldn't help but feel proud of him.

Several months later he made headlines again. This time for running away in Chicago with a mouse. I was stunned when I read about the chaos he had made, and how he had lost his control in front of so many important men. But I could tell, somehow, that he was going to come back to see us. I just didn't know when.

You can't imagine how shocked I was when I opened the door to find Charlie standing there, looking as apprehensive as I felt. At first I thought he was another stranger Mom had absent-mindedly invited for dinner but when I looked into his eyes – those familiar big eyes – something clicked.

I was so happy. Over the last few years my life had gone downhill. Mom and Dad divorced and I didn't get into a good university, so I was stuck in our tiny apartment with my half-mad mother and an incessantly growing bill for rent. I worked two jobs and tried my best to support the two of us, but things were steadily growing worse. I had hoped and prayed for someone – anyone – to help me, and now my big brother had returned, safe and well.

So Charlie and I talked. He told me about the experiment, of how his intelligence enabled him to read different languages with ease, how he had so much more insight on life with his raised IQ. In turn I told him about my family struggles, and about Mom's battle with dementia. Then Charlie brought up the subject of his memories.

He described a scene when we were children, where I maliciously blamed him just to get him into trouble. He described it as though it were yesterday; including details I had long forgotten and bringing up things that had been left behind. I was amazed at his capability and mortified at my malevolence. What had been his impression of me if the only memories he had were those in which I ostracized and humiliated him?

I had never wanted him to be spanked for my wrongdoings. I was a child – stupid and unthinking – all I knew was that I had to get even. In a way I was jealous of Charlie, jealous of the fact that he could skip school and get bad grades and not get punished for it. I was the one who had to face the other kids – they tormented me for having an abnormal brother and left me out of all the games. For that I hated him.

But that was the past. Before, I had looked down on him, despised him, even. Now I needed him. He was the hero I never knew existed. I had to find someone to hold on to, or at least just to talk to, to keep me sane. I needed an anchor to the world.

He said he couldn't stay.

My heart stopped. I froze, senseless. Then I grabbed hold of him, desperately, as though he was the world. In a way he was.

Then it happened.

"What are you doing to her?" My mother had grabbed a kitchen knife and was brandishing it at Charlie. "Get away from her!"

My mother was screaming, yelling words and accusations that held no truth. I wrenched the knife out of her hand and she spat out her last sentence.

"Get him out of here! He's got no right to look at his sister with sex in his mind!"

Mom threw herself into a chair, wailing. I just stood there, my expression of disbelief mirrored on Charlie's face. The truth was out at last. The reason why Charlie had been sent off to Warren State Home: to protect _me_.

I had unknowingly ruined my brother's life. The fact still astounds me. Charlie comforted me, but I didn't deserve his condolence. As he left I could only ponder how the little things, not the large acts, were the ones that had a lasting impact on others' lives.


End file.
